Heading back into the courtyard, he couldn’t stop from smiling. His wife made him happy. Tomorrow, he’d visit her again.
Chapter Six
After washing away the dirt, arranging her hair into order, and donning her most beautiful leine with the rose embroidery, she decided the day was still young and now was the time to scour the castle for an ally.
Niall would bury his dagger in her chest so she decided on Hector. He gave her a heartfelt welcome and seemed the warmest of the MacLean men. After the heartwarming events in the chamber, she added Duncan to the top of her list.
Truthfully, it warmed her as much as his comforting did. If he kept up with this behavior, she could fall in love with him. That was a foolish notion. It was his comforting her on her most horrible day. Not for some years had someone held her and been there only to ease her pain. Caring for him would be reasonable. Duncan might be annoyed by the prospect of caring but love…never. A warrior had no place for love. Besides, Ailsa would be devastated when he rejected her heart.
But oh, how she could love him.
And maybe if wishes were granted she would be loved in return. Ailsa went down the passageway and knocked on the heavy oaken door. Not receiving a call, she cracked it open and peeked around the thick door. Hector sat in a cushioned chair, his leg resting on a stool and a manuscript open on his lap.
“Ailsa, please join me.” He waved toward the x-frame seat before him. A small fire burned in the hearth but the furnishings truly made this chamber cozy. Expensive books were piled in every corner and around the three chests and even the table, next to parchments, and inkhorns. Monasteries only boasted such a large amount of books. Leather bound books even encircled the pine bed pressed against the far wall between two windows with open shutters and the tapestries haphazardly pushed aside to let in the bright light. Wooden swords, bows, and arrows littered the room. A small plaid pooled on the floor while trews and tunics hung from the pegs. Obviously, he shared this space with Niall.
Ailsa perched on the chair, nervous for a reason unfathomable to her. “Do you always stay in here?”
“Nay, but this day, my body doesn’t possess the strength to move.” He massaged his calf. His lips tightened, whiting the surrounding skin. She forced her rude attention away from his leg.
“I understand. I feel the same way many days.” She flushed, conscious her words demeaned his daily pain. Ailsa had two perfectly formed legs that conducted her wherever she wished. “Not that I’m slothful or that you are,” she blurted.
Hector smiled. “Ailsa, cease before you speak a truly shameful thought that has your blush setting your face afire.”
“I mean no offense.” Ailsa peered back at his leg.
“And none was taken.” He followed her eye line. “Ailsa, do you wish to know what happened to me?”
“I don’t wish to be rude.”
“I rather you ask than stare while pretending, very badly I might add, that you are not.” He waved his hand like a lord in a manor. “Ask anything you wish.”
Her tongue darted out and moistened her dry lips. “How did you injure yourself? Does it pain you much? Are you able to mount a horse? Can you—”
“Permit me to answer one at a time.” He waited for her agreement. “When I was five, my father’s horse kicked me.” She cringed, aware of the pain that racked his childish body. “It was painful however it was him trampling me that broke my leg.”
Ailsa’s hand flew to her O shaped mouth. “I almost died.” He paused then inhaled a breath. “I had a fever for many nights then I started to heal but my leg was twisted around and of no use to me.”
“You walk now.”
“After months of sweaty determination. There are more days when I’m pained however, I walk and even ride.”
“You are very strong. I think I would have died.”
“One never knows one’s strength until it is needed.” He set aside the book and poured two glasses of wine from iron-bounded chest at his side. “Enough of me. I heard of your adventures today.
Ailsa took the offered goblet from him and moaned. “I would not call them adventures, more likely catastrophes.”
“Everything will be fine.”
“That is why I have come looking for you.”
“Truly.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Do you plan to do me harm?”
She sputtered then wiped the wine from her chin. “Nay, I would never. I seek an ally.”
“For?”
She lifted her chin in the air. “I plan to conquer this clan and I seek your aid.”
“Only here a day and already you started wars.” His smile laced his voice.
“Not that. I wish them to welcome me and see I have value and am not a fool.” She lowered her head in shame then picked it up with a hopeful smile on her face. “Can I count on you?”
He stayed quiet for so long Ailsa believed he planned to deny her. “I could never turn down a lady in need. This could be fun.”
“Good. I have one question—how do we accomplish it?”
Hector tapped his forefinger against his jaw. “I need to think on this.”
“I understand. How does a person get a whole clan to like her?”
He leaned toward her. “That’s the problem. When hunting deer, what do you do?”
Ailsa leaned forward as well, not wanting to miss a word. “I don’t know I’ve never hunted.”
“Right. Forgive me. First, you select your prey and separate it from its herd.” Hector sat back, proud of his plan.
With interest, she nodded, wanting him to finish explaining.
“We just need to find our prey and hunt it down.”
“Who’s our prey?”
“Màiri the Bold, Moira’s mother. Besides the laird, she rules the clan.”
“Oh good. I like Moira.”
“Thank you, my lady. I like you as well.” Moira shut the door behind her. The two women beamed at each other so happy and pleased to have forged a friendship.
“Both your confidences have been boosted so we must figure out a way to get your mother to accept Ailsa.”
“My mother”—Moira pointed to herself—“impossible. Will never happen.” She shook her head so vehemently her pale blonde hair flew out around her as she chopped her hands through the air. Ailsa stared up at Moira. She felt the air drying out her eyeballs. Hector glared her to silence.
She never cowered. She had a different response. She paid him no heed and snatched a cushion from the bed and beat it until a feather floated in the air.
“I don’t want to frighten you but Moira is nothing like her mother.”
Moira propped Hector’s injured leg on the cushion. She began clearing the small table beside his chair. “Hector speaks the truth, my lady.”
“Moira is darling and light—”
“Really. Thank you.”
Ailsa’s gaze darted from Hector and Moira with her hand resting on his shoulder. Hector was the man Moira loved.
“Aye,” Hector muttered. Moira rolled her eyes heavenward before returning to tidying the cluttered chamber. Hector took a taste of his wine then refilled his goblet. On her way by him, Moira plucked the flagon from the table and poured most of the wine out the window on her way to the bed.
“What was I saying?”
“My mother,” she called out as she fixed the bed.
“Right, let me say this, the devil doesn’t come to MacLean land because he’s afraid of Màiri.”
Ailsa gulped down her wine. She sent a quick prayer the Lord would come instead.
* * * *
Duncan found himself charging up the stairs in search of his wife. He had no reason to seek her out. The exact opposite, he had duties to see to and no time to ignore them. But Duncan never ended his hunt.
Hell, he practically ran over his followers in his rush to get in the donjon and when he reached the bedchamber, he had to catch the door from slamming against the wall. To make matters worse, the r
oom was deserted.
A frisson of alarm slammed into his gut. Duncan prayed she hadn’t harm herself more because all that was left was her demise and with the way her day seemed to be progressing, a tree would topple on her. Duncan had to find her before that happened.
Without knocking, he threw open Hector’s chamber door, not caring if it slammed into the wall. Then he wished he behaved with more civility since his wife sat across Hector holding her chest in fright.
Duncan didn’t bother with Moira and Hector as he crossed to his wife.
“Is that his usual entrance?” Ailsa questioned, not caring if her behavior was rude to her husband.
“Aye, it is so you must acclimate yourself to it,” Duncan retorted before Hector made a sound. “Now stop being rude and greet your laird.”
“I refuse since my husband knows no manners.” She raised her goblet then lowered it when she realized it was empty.
“Your behavior is worst since you’ve chosen to forget yours whereas I never knew them,” Duncan said, towering over her.
Hector glanced between the glaring couple. He failed to smother his smirk. “What can I do for you, Duncan?”
“Not a thing. I’ve come for my wife.” His eyes settled on her.
“Me,” Ailsa stammered.
“I have no other.”
Ailsa leapt to her feet. “Good, otherwise you shall go to hell.” She whispered the last word so no one heard her. “You’re probably going there for your other sinful behavior.” She clamped her mouth shut, pressing her lips together to prevent more stupid comments from spewing out her mouth. “Not that you’re going there. I’ll help save your soul.”
“Fine.”
“Father Murray will be pleased to have his burden lessened.”
“Shut up, Hector,” he barked over his shoulder then softened his features. “Come along, wife. I’m in need of your help.”
“My help.” She placed her hand in his outstretched one. “I shall help in every way.”
* * * *
Ailsa trailed behind her husband, pleased he needed her. He obviously valued her unlike her father. This bode well for their future. He would come to her, asking for her opinion. Together, they would solve clan difficulties as husband and wife. This union would be a marriage she always dreamt yet never expected.
Duncan ushered her into their chamber. He wore a bawdy grin. “What requires my help?” She rolled to her toes in a little dance.
“This.” He pulled her into his arms and claimed her mouth. Her lips were crushed. Her teeth gnashed against the pulpy inside of her mouth. Duncan softened the pressure. He wasn’t coaxing her; he was demanding her passion to match his. She remembered her lesson from last night and whirled her tongue against his. He groaned. The rumble waved through her. She clutched his upper arms, a tentative hold since her small hands struggled to clutch the flank of flesh, cut with muscle. Gripping her hips, his swelling shaft rubbed against the apex of her thighs. Against her body’s wishes, Ailsa broke the stirring kiss.
“It’s daylight.” She leaned back in his arms that were pulling her closer. She planted her palms against his firm chest. He yanked her to him, pinning her arms between their bodies.
The tip of his tongue traced a scorching path from her jaw to her ear. “I’ll get to see every part of your lovely body.” He nipped her earlobe. The warm knot in her stomach tightened, inflaming her need for Duncan.
“’Tis sinful.” Her head lolled to the side. Needing a stronghold against his sinful tongue, Ailsa seized handfuls of his tunic.
“What a way to sin,” he murmured against the tender underside of ear as hot shivers quivered through her. That small area of flesh was fully alive and nothing else mattered. His hot breath fanned across her skin as his day’s growth scraped against the sensitive spot. She never felt something so wickedly sensuous. He bunched up her leine around her knees and slipped his callused hand underneath the garment, kneading her warm creamy skin. Nearly banishing all her resistance, his hand traveled up her thigh and over her hip until the leine bunched around her waist. She stopped his hands.
"This will not be a repeat of last night. Trust me."
Ailsa dropped her arms. Breaking the contact, he wrenched the gown overhead. Ailsa caught her lower lip between her teeth and reached out her shaky hand to the leather holding his plaid in place. She fumbled with it, unable to get her jittery hands to function. Covering her hands with his, he deftly undid his belt.
As the plaid dropped from his body, she slipped her hands under his tunic. Ailsa skimmed over his taut stomach and up over his shoulders. His tunic joined the rest of the clothing.
They reached for each other, becoming lost in their building passion. Ailsa controlled the kiss, exploring his mouth. She pulled him closer. His dusting of chest hairs tantalized her until she moaned with pleasure and want. Her hand gripped the back of his neck, holding him where she wanted him as the silky ends of his hair tangled around her fingertips. A surge of desire crested within her. Her strong passions weren’t the cause. Nay, this was strength. Not fear.
Ailsa broke off the kiss. “May I see your…” Her eyes dipped down to the sinewy apex of his neck. Her boldness only brought her so far.
His chuckle contained more of a groan than mirth.
He drew back. She locked onto his eyes—heavy-lidded and darkened by his lust for her. Slowly, her eyes skimmed over his hard chest, quickening his blood until her perusal halted on his hard manhood. She flicked her gaze at him. She pressed her finger against the hard tip of him. His stomach clenched.
“It moved! Is that supposed to happen?”
He gulped and nodded.
She stroked him, running her intrigued finger along the vein-bulging side. He caught her hand.
“Like this.” He curled her hand around his shaft and pumped her hand up and down. His arm fell to his side.
“’Tis hard and smooth at the same time.” Her thumb grazed over the tip. He grunted. His head was thrown back and his jaw rigid. His head fell forward. His black strands hung, veiling his face from her. He made sounds in the back of his throat and gritted his teeth.
“Does it hurt?”
“No more or it’ll end here.”
Snatching her up, he carried her to the bed, slowly lowering her to the soft mattress. He blanketed her body with his, bracing himself on his forearms.
She ached to inspect every inch of his body but lacked the bravery to look beyond the throbbing neck vein. “Duncan, will we go to hell?”
“Nay, my sweet. We’re going to heaven. I promise.”
She trusted his vow. After all, he called her my sweet and rose up. Duncan met her half way, the kiss hot and demanding. She nipped at his lip. He cupped her aching breast, eliciting a moan. She gripped his thick forearms straining under his thinly held control and filled his hand. Her hands skimmed along the side of his body.
With his leg, he spread her thighs. Planting kisses down her chest between her swollen breasts, he traveled to the juncture of her thighs, hidden by her veil of womanhood. Spreading her wider, he gripped her buttocks and lifted her to his mouth.
“Nay!”
He tasted her. “Honey.”
She fell back, never believing the intoxicating pleasure she received. His kisses were drugging. This most intimate touch enthralled her. Her arms were thrown over her head. Duncan feasted on the dulcet taste of his wife. He hooked her leg over his shoulder and dipped his tongue inside her.
Ailsa gripped his hair, not knowing if she wished him to stop or to never end. Her senses whirled faster and faster, taking control of her body until nothing mattered but the tactile contact between a man and a woman. Her inner thighs began to shake. Her world centered on that scant stretch of flesh.
She called out his name until hoarse then started to beg, whimpering every word.
Her tight walls began to shudder then convulse. He climbed over her and buried himself to the hilt. Ailsa cried out in pleasure, only for the rapture to buil
d again.
Duncan rolled over, pulling her atop him.
“Come back.”
“You’re the one in control.” He slid her up his hard shaft then down. Duncan gripped her hips and guided her, up, down and a roll of her hips and once she found her rhythm, he cupped her breast, kneading the soft mound pebbled against his palms.
Faster and faster she rode, trying to catch the pleasure at the end of this sweet torment. Ailsa relished being on top, the powerful feeling stirring her senses.
“This is heaven—heaven,” Ailsa called out. He moaned. His fingers began to bite into her skin. Each stroke, he held her tighter.
As her body fragmented into a thousand burning pieces, Duncan poured his seed in her with a roar.
She collapsed on his glistening chest. She floated in an otherworldly sensation. The contact of their skin veiled by a thin layer of sweat cooled her scorching flesh. Her senses were consumed with the notions of their differences yet how well they fit. Duncan had a way of thrilling her as well as anchoring her. Pure joy intoxicated her and only Duncan inspired it.
As her senses evened out, she grinned up at her husband. “I like helping you.”
* * * *
Ailsa set down her comb when hard pounding blasted through the chamber. Straightening her clothing, she crossed the space to answer the door. Instead of Duncan, Niall’s clean face scowled up at her.
“My brother says to come,” he ordered in a grumble. “We can’t eat until you come and I’m starved. I put in a full day.”
She smothered her mirth since the lad appeared displeased with his chore “Of course.” She shut the door behind her and followed Niall down the stairs. “Niall, do you ever bathe?”
“When I’m forced to.”
“When was the last time you were forced?” She questioned the back of his head.
“About a sennight ago when Duncan threw me in the loch.” He stopped and turned to her, deepening his scowl as his brown eyes gleamed with mistrust. “Why? You want to throw me in the loch?”
“You are…filthy.”
He shrugged. “I’m training.”
The Marriage Alliance Page 7
